


Four of a Kind

by Temporalis (Elvaron)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 12:37:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4829399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvaron/pseuds/Temporalis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"A dwarf, an elf, a Tal-Vashoth and a human?" Adaar said. "An unlikely alliance. Also, possibly, the beginning of a very bad joke.</i> In which there are four survivors of the Conclave blast, Cadash is the most unHerald-like Herald ever, Adaar is a force of nature, and Lavellan can't decide whether he wants to strangle Trevelyan or kiss him. Alternate universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14614.html?thread=57608726) on the Dragon Age Kink Meme, asking for the Herald and the Inquisitor to be different people. 
> 
> M!Trevelyan, M!Lavellan, F!Cadash and F!Adaar, default names, but their personalities are entirely their own fault. Eventual M!Trevelyan/M!Lavellan, and F!Cadash/F!Adaar.
> 
> Canon divergent, and will go heavily AU, most likely shortly after the siege of Haven.

There were stirrings nearby. Wrapped in the darkness, his eyes closed, senses unfolding out of the net of unconsciousness, Lavellan cautiously probed his surroundings with the caution of one putting a toe into a river of indeterminate depth. His ears caught an exchange in low voices - one male, one female - though the exact words escaped him. The male, he perceived, was distinctly closer to him, with the smell that reeked of shemlen. The female, a little further, and the rumble in her consonants suggested a chest cavity too large to be elven or shem. Qunari, or more likely, a Tal-Vashoth mercenary; there were certainly any number of the ox-folk crawling around the Conclave.

But wait; in the background, just at the very edge of his hearing, he could sense a third presence. Breaths that were too shallow for sleep, too noisy for someone trying to conceal their presence. A hint of raggedness that suggested injury, or illness. Unconscious, perhaps, and hence not a participant in this discussion. 

The conversation lapsed. There was a shift, and the shem moved closer. A touch on his forehead, a finger on his eyelid. 

Lavellan reacted instinctively and instantly. His eyes snapped open as he seized the human's wrist, his other hand going for the knife that was usually at his belt, bringing it round to aim it at the shemlen's throat. It was only when he met the human's startled eyes that he realised that his hand was empty. His weapons, it appeared, had been taken from him. 

"And you said he was out like a light, Trevelyan," an amused voice rang from further away. The Tal-Vashoth female. 

"He _was_ ," the human - Trevelyan, probably - replied mildly, staying very still and watching him carefully. "Hello," he ventured. "Good of you to join us. I'm Maxwell Trevelyan, that's Herah Adaar, and I promise, we are not trying to hurt you."

The human didn't look armed, and as Lavellan's eyes darted around, he realised that there were bars around them. A prison cell. Two cells, to be precise - with him and Trevelyan in one, and Adaar in the other. Wonderful. 

Grunting, he released the human's wrist and pushed himself to his feet. "Where are we?" he demanded, moving as quickly as he dared to try and make sense of his surroundings. His head swam faintly, but he could sense no other injuries on his person. He could, however, detect the lingering taste of elfroot on his tongue. Bah. 

"Haven't the foggiest," Adaar replied, apparently still amused, if her tone was anything to go by. Trevelyan had settled back onto the thin mattress on the floor, watching him pace. There was, as he'd suspected, a third person - a dwarf - in a third cell. She appeared deeply unconscious, and also quite ill, if the sheen of sweat on her forehead was anything to go by. 

A check of the locks on the door showed that they were quite definitely locked in. With the right tools, he might have been able to do something about that, but someone had been careful to strip him off his lockpicks as well as his weapons. The moment he got his bow back - and he was going to get it back - he was going to put an arrow through the eye of whoever had taken it.

" _Why_ are we here?" he asked instead, since the ox seemed to think that everything was a huge joke, and the shem seemed content to act stupid. The shem probably wasn't as dense as he was pretending to be - Lavellan didn't need to look twice to tell that he was likely of noble birth, and had the look of a scholar. Lavellan would have placed bets that if he checked the calluses on those fine-boned hands, he would find ones consistent with a man who carried a staff rather than a blade. Mages were many things - dangerous, angry, and occasionally desperate - but it was usually a mistake to assume that they were fools. There was a reason why Keepers were mages, after all.

"What was the last thing you remember?" Trevelyan countered. 

Lavellan glanced over at him, eyes narrowed. His memory was failing him - he could recall snatches, fragments - _the feel of the wind against his face as he crossed river and mountain to reach this Conclave, the many whispers in dark corners, scheme building upon scheme and plot building upon plot, the raw taste of desperation and hope and undercut by the sourness of distrust. Templars and mages, side-eying each other like foxes and halla. A roar like a thunderclap that could split the heavens. Fire in the dark. Screams. An invisible force that plucked the ground from beneath him, then - silence._

"The Conclave," he said, at last. "I recall a blast, if I am not mistaken. Was it magic?"

"No idea," Adaar said, more sober now. "I can't remember much - one moment I was guarding my client, the next moment, I'm here. Must have hit my head, or somewhat. Trevelyan seems to remember the explosion, though." 

So, she was a mercenary. Lavellan wasn't surprised - the Tal-Vashoth had the build and bearing of a seasoned warrior. She looked like she could snap Trevelyan in two if she chose. And though she seemed friendly enough, if he squinted, Lavellan thought he could sense the shadow of something else about her. It was frustratingly elusive, a whisper of a whisper, a gut feeling too insubstantial to pin down. 

"I remember little more," Trevelyan said, his tone apologetic. "I was in the main hall when I heard the blast. I fear for the number of lives that may have been lost."

Both narratives were pointedly vague on details of how, exactly, the other two had survived. Lavellan would have accused them of dissembling, except that he was no better, with his patchwork memory. 

"And what of her?" he asked, glancing at the dwarf. 

"...Ah," Trevelyan said. 

Right on cue, or so it seemed, the main door to the prison banged open. In the light that spilt in, Lavellan could make out the sign of the Chantry on the floor. Better and better. The Divine Justinia had been the one to summon the Conclave - had she survived the blast? Were they being detained on suspicion of her murder?

To his surprise, the first person to enter was an elf. The stranger moved towards the unconscious dwarf's cell, and Lavellan's attention was drawn to the dwarf's left hand, which crackled with a strange green light. He would have called it magic, except it was like no magic he'd ever seen, and besides; a dwarf, a mage? The durgen'len did not dream, had no connection to the Fade, no magical ability whatsoever. It was more likely that the magic had come from the outside, though how had it attached itself to flesh? 

Perhaps that was the strange magic that had caused the blast. Perfect. The shemlen could blame the dwarf, and the rest of them could be on their way. The sooner he was gone from here, the better.

"She's still unconscious," the elf observed, unlocking the dwarf's cell door and moving in. "Temperature … hm. Higher than before." He took the dwarf's hand, studying the mark, which flared dimly in response. "No change."

A shadow fell across the doorway to the jail, and an armour-clad human female stepped through. Her gaze, hard and suspicious, wandered from Adaar to Trevelyan to him, lingering for a moment before turning to the other elf. "Solas," she said. "Can you yet discern the manner of this thing?"

"I'm afraid not, Seeker," the elf said calmly. "This is no magic that I am familiar with. But if she were to regain consciousness, I believe that we could get more answers."

"The Breach will not wait," the Seeker bit out. 

Lavellan glanced at Adaar, to see if this exchange meant anything to her, but she simply shook her head at him. 

Trevelyan, however, had risen. "Seeker," he said. "Please, allow me to help. I'm a mage and a healer." It didn't sound like the first time he'd made this request.

"Out of the question," the Seeker snapped. "You are still under suspicion, and your accounts do nothing to convince me that you were not responsible for what happened at the Conclave."

"I told you - I didn't cause the blast!" Trevelyan's even tone turned harsh with frustration. "She's suffering, Seeker, and her condition has worsened steadily. If we can't stabilise her, she may _never_ wake."

Solas was looking to the Seeker as well. "The insights of a fellow mage may prove useful. I will keep an eye on him, or you can leave a guard with us."

"Whoever destroyed the Conclave did so in the presence of any number of guards, templars and mages," the Seeker replied. "I fail to see how this is reassurance. What if this is mark is the mage's work, and he seeks repossession of it?"

Arguments. Words bandied back and forth, as though they had the luxury of time. Lavellan folded his arms and sighed, very loudly. When four pairs of eyes snapped to look at him, he raised an eyebrow. "So," he said archly, "You'd rather the dwarf die, taking with her your only chance of dealing with this Breach?" 

The Seeker crossed the jail in two strides, coming up in front of the bars of his cell. Lavellan met her steely gaze calmly. "What do you know of the Breach?" the Seeker demanded. "Speak!"

"Only what you've said in the past few minutes," Lavellan replied. "And the fact that you're _scared_ of it. Which suggests to me that this is a problem that's possibly related to the explosion at the Conclave, and also far bigger, and that the Divine is dead, leaving the Chantry directionless and, oh, probably the only force in the immediate area that's trying to tackle this problem." The last was possibly a bit of a guess, but if he knew humans and their obsession with hierarchy, the Seeker would be - ha! _seeking_ \- direction from her Divine, if that were at all an option. "So you can take the human up on his offer, and possibly, just possibly, find a way to unravel this mystery, or you can cower behind paranoia until this Breach consumes us."

The Seeker studied him thoughtfully. Lavellan was marginally surprised - he'd expected a tirade of some sort; humans were typically so sensitive when criticised, and this one appeared to be one of those who spoke before she thought. Clearly there was more to her than first impressions suggested. 

"Tell me," Lavellan continued, with studied indifference, hiding the barb behind callous words. "How many people died at the Conclave?"

A muscle twitched in the Seeker's jaw. Definitely a sore point. "Everyone but the four of you," she said. "Which makes all of you suspects."

"A dwarf, an elf, a Tal-Vashoth and a human?" Adaar said. "An unlikely alliance. Also, possibly, the beginning of a very bad joke."

"Yet not impossible," the Seeker pointed out.

"Time is wasting," Trevelyan said quietly. "Hold a sword at my neck by all means, if it makes you feel better. As our elven friend here has pointed out, you do not have much of a choice, Seeker."

Elven _friend?_ "The name," Lavellan ground out, "is Lavellan."

The dwarf groaned faintly, and the sound seemed to make up the Seeker's mind. "Very well," she conceded, and visibly held back from saying something utterly trite, such as ' _but no tricks_ '. She unlocked the cell door, and Lavellan considered making a break for it, then noted the guards standing at the entrance of the jail, and changed his mind. Besides, it seemed that the problem was more serious than he had initially thought - strange magic, and a Breach? Whatever was a Breach? Or, more specifically - what was it a breach _of?_ The Keeper would want to know about it. His job as an observer was not over, not by a long stretch.

Trevelyan stepped out of the cell and made his way over to where Solas and the dwarf was. They conversed in voices too soft to make out, and when it became obvious that nothing earth-shattering was likely to happen in the immediate future, Lavellan settled on the mattresses in his cell to wait, summoning the patience that served him well as a hunter. 

*

The dwarf awoke in the dead of the night.

There was no sunlight down here in the Chantry's dungeons by which to measure the passing of the day, but Lavellan assumed that the Seeker and Solas had turned up at a time close to morning, leaving only a considerable time later. Trevelyan had been booted out of the dwarf's cell and returned to their shared one when that happened, and the third meal of the day had been served. Lavellan had been dithering with the question of whether to ask Trevelyan or Adaar for more details on the blast of the Conclave, but Trevelyan dropped off to sleep shortly thereafter, and Adaar seemed content to maintain her silence. Lavellan, still exhausted, had opted to doze, skimming the very edges of sleep the way he did when scouting the forests alone, keeping half an ear open for trouble.

When he heard the low groan of pain, he shot awake immediately. 

The dwarf was moving, the strange mark on her hand flashing angrily. Green light crawled unnaturally across the cell's walls, flickering like a wraith, and Lavellan hissed through his teeth. "Trevelyan," he said, moving to the human's side and shaking his shoulder roughly. The mage startled awake, caught sight of the dwarf curling up in pain in the next cell, and leapt to his feet. 

"The door is solid wood, and unless there's a guard right outside, no one's going to hear us through that," Adaar said grimly, echoing Lavellan's thoughts. "Unless you have any mage tricks up those sleeves of yours, Trev, I'm not sure what any of us can do to help her."

"Hello, there," Trevelyan said, and it took a moment for Lavellan to realise that he wasn't talking to either of them. He was crouched by the bars, as close as he could get to the dwarf, his voice calm and friendly. "Does it hurt?"

The dwarf glanced up, and Lavellan had a good glimpse of her face for the first time. She was pretty, her features more delicate than the average dwarf, wide-eyed and innocent--

\--"Piss off," she said, thoroughly ruining the impression.

Trevelyan quirked a smile. "My name's Trevelyan," he said. "Maxwell Trevelyan. I'm afraid I can't exactly offer you the heights of hospitality, in the circumstances, but I might be able to help out a bit with that." He nodded at the mark on her hand, which was still raging. 

"Is it magic?" the dwarf asked, her voice tinged with suspicion. "How did it end up… do I even want to know?"

"That's what we were hoping you could tell us," Adaar chipped in. "You had it when I found you, is all I can say. Say, do you remember anything? The Conclave? Ending up here?" She threw out the question in a casual, almost off-handed manner, but Lavellan could tell that every one of them was listening intently, hoping for a piece to this puzzle.

The dwarf frowned. "Not a damn thing," she sighed. "I remember the Conclave - that's right, I was there - went upstairs because, well, reasons that I can't remember, and the next time I wake up, I'm here. So … any of you care to explain just why we're all locked up? If there was a party, was it at least a good one?"

"Collective amnesia," Lavellan muttered under his breath. "What are the chances?"

Trevelyan would probably have answered the dwarf's question if the door hadn't banged open right at that moment with a crash that made all of them jump. The Seeker strode in, accompanied by armoured guards and followed by a human lady, hooded and with the sharp gaze of an eagle. The group barged into the dwarf's cell, the guards drawing their swords with the ring of steel. 

"Tell us why we shouldn't kill you," the Seeker said, without preamble. 

The dwarf blinked. 

"She just awoke," Trevelyan protested. "And the mark is reacting. Where is Solas?"

"Hang on a tick," the dwarf said. "As Trevor here said, I just woke up. The last thing I remember was being at the Conclave. Would someone care to explain what the heck is going on?" 

"The Conclave was destroyed," the Seeker said sharply. "A blast destroyed it utterly, and you four are the only survivors. The Divine Justinia V is dead, a great rent has appeared in the sky. You - one of you - was seen stumbling out of it. We would know who."

"Everyone's dead?" the dwarf said, sitting up. "Andraste's flaming _arse_."

The Seeker twitched. Lavellan hide a smile.

"A rent in the sky?" Trevelyan asked. "This is the first you've mentioned it. Is this the Breach you speak of?"

"Silence," one of the guards snapped at him. Trevelyan's eyes flashed, but he held up his hands in brief surrender.

"We know that your family name is Cadash," the hooded lady said. "And that you are of the Carta, sent to spy on the Conclave. Was this the Carta's plan? To bring disruption down upon Thedas?"

"Since you have all the answers, why don't you tell me?" Cadash snapped back, clearly exasperated. "I told you - I don't remember a thing, I have no idea how this … thing on my hand came to be. I was at the Conclave to observe, nothing more. I'm a dwarf, for crying out loud! Don't insult my competence. Don't you think that I would have made sure that I was clear of the blast zone _before_ levelling the place? And blowing the entire thing sky high? That's _inelegant_. Amateurish. If I wanted to kill the Divine, there were a thousand easier ways." She sniffed. "Plus, we're good at explosives and mining, this is true, but holes in the sky? You have _got_ to be joking. That's probably magic, and the last I checked, _dwarves and magic don't mix._ "

"Take us to see this Breach," Lavellan said, interjecting while they were still reeling, off-balance from the dwarf's sudden word vomit. As everyone turned to look at him, he rolled his eyes. "You said it yourself, Seeker: "the Breach will not wait". Clearly, you - or more likely Solas, he seems the theoretical sort - has posited that the mark will be able to fix it. Talk, on the other hand, is cheap and can be done at leisure."

"Bring the dwarf," the Seeker said, gesturing to the guards. 

"The _dwarf_ , as you pointed out, has a name," Cadash spat. "And is not moving an _inch_ until you explain yourself."

"And you're bringing the rest of us," Adaar added. "Don't forget, we're all suspects, you'd want to keep an eye on us." She smiled. "And I reckon there's fighting to be done, since you're all dressed for war." 

Astute. Lavellan gave the Tal-Vashoth points for it. 

The hooded lady gestured to the Seeker, and they turned away to speak in soft voices. A consensus must have been reached eventually, because moments later, Lavellan found himself ushered from the cell. The guards - young and inexperienced, by the looks of it, which made him suspect that there was, indeed, fighting to be found, and the veterans had been dispatched to deal with the worst of it - bound each of their hands, then took up position behind them as they left the prison, following the Seeker's lead. 

*

Lavellan wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but the sight that awaited them when they stepped from the Chantry's doors wasn't it. "Breach" didn't do it justice. The very sky was split, a churning green whirlpool seething overhead. The light from it cast the entire area in the sickly glow, neither night nor day. The unnaturalness of it stole the wind from his lungs, sent nausea clawing through his gut. Everything about it screamed of wrongness, of magic gone so foul that it tore the very fabric of the world. Staring into it was like staring into a vortex into madness, its seething, angry depths threatening to drag one in and down, down, _down_ until they drowned.

Trevelyan and Adaar staggered, and the mark on Cadash's hand sparked, blazing to sudden life.

"Let me see," Trevelyan said, moving to her side and taking her wrist. He concentrated for a moment, light glowing blue across his fingertips, then the angry crackling of the mark stabilised, and stilled. 

Cadash drew a breath, her face grey and ashen. "You're not bad, for a human," she said, with a small smile. 

"What _is_ that?" Adaar asked, turning to stare at the Seeker. 

"The Breach," the Seeker said - rather unnecessarily, in Lavellan's opinion. But it had been a rather unnecessary question to start with. "A gateway into the Fade, or so we believe. More than that, we do not know; but it seemed that the Veil is torn, and demons are moving freely into this world. If we do not seal it, I fear we may soon be overrun."

"Then what are we _waiting_ for?" Cadash demanded, striding off. "The sooner we get my shiny hand to fix it, the better, right?"

The Seeker sighed, running after her. Trevelyan took off behind, and Adaar and Lavellan exchanged slightly exasperated glances before following. Running towards trouble; charging headlong into a breach in the walls of the very world, straight into the jaws of demons; Lavellan had possibly done more foolish things in his life, but at this point, he couldn't recall any of them.


	2. Chapter 2

They ran into trouble less than a hundred paces from the gates. 

The raw magic that dropped from the Breach caught them all by surprise. It crashed into the bridge that they were crossing, slamming through masonry, tearing the structure completely apart. Lavellan had a single second to yell out a warning, but his words were drowned in the rumble of disintegrating brickwork. 

He slammed into the ice of the frozen river below, rolling the best he could to absorb the impact, before rising shakily to his feet. What he saw made him hiss - creatures unlike any he had ever seen were rising from the ground, black and gruesome and obviously nothing belonging on this side of the Veil. Three - no, four of them, each practically radiating malice. As though the very sky tearing itself apart wasn't bad enough, as though raining fire and brimstone down on them wasn't bad enough - was it _also_ raining demons?

Lavellan glanced rapidly across the battlefield. He could see his fellow prisoners dragging themselves to their feet - evidently bruised but unharmed. The Seeker, it seemed, hadn't been so lucky. She was on her feet already, her sword drawn, but there was blood streaming from a head wound, and the way she favoured her right side hinted at further injuries beneath her armour. She had clearly taken the brunt of the impact.

A flicker of green at the edge of his vision drew his attention - Cadash's mark, flaring angrily in reaction to the expanding of the Breach. The light or the mark itself drew the demons, which turned almost as one, surging abruptly towards her. His mind automatically measured the distance between himself and Cadash, his fingers twitching for the bow he didn't have, knowing before he moved that there was no way he could reach her side in time. Some instinct drove him forward anyway, his boots slipping on the treacherous ice, even as Cadash looked up and registered the threat, her eyes going wide with shock as the demons descended--

\--the Seeker roared out a challenge, distracting the demons for a split second, before she crashed into them with the brunt of her shield. They turned on her immediately, claws out, screeching in unearthly voices. The sound of claws on metal filled the air, and Lavellan winced. The Seeker might have been able to hold out against one or two - but four? She didn't stand a chance.

Lavellan glanced at Cadash, and something that needed no words to communicate passed between them in a single flash of mutual understanding. It was a moment's work for him to slip the ropes binding his hands, the bonds he had loosened on the trek falling easily away. Cadash was bare seconds behind him. Lavellan took a step towards Trevelyan, but the mage glanced at them and fire sprung between his fingers, the flames searing the rope away before being extinguished with the crackle of ice. And Adaar … Adaar simply tore the bindings apart as though they were made of paper.

"Go!" Cadash yelled, diving towards the ruins of a cart that had fallen from the bridge. She emerged with a pair of daggers, flinging one at Lavellan. He caught the knife even as the Seeker staggered under the blow of a demon, falling to one knee, her sword clattering across the ice as it was wrenched from her grasp. It might have ended there, if Adaar hadn't waded in, sending one demon reeling with a solid punch, then slamming a knee into another. Grabbing the Seeker's sword, she laid into the creatures with a rage that was beautiful to behold, the sword practically an extension of her arm.

A fire spell arced out, catching one of the demons in its midsection. It shrieked as the flames engulfed it, then Cadash set upon it, driving her dagger deep into its back. The thing screamed shrilly, worse than any beast in its death throes, arching and reaching towards the Breach as though in supplication, before crumpling to the ground. Light flared around the corpse almost immediately, the body disintegrating and streaming towards the Breach. It was almost as if the Fade was reaching out to reclaim the remains, and Lavellan wondered just what sort of power could have ripped the Veil in this manner… and more importantly, what could possibly _fix_ it. 

" _That's_ the way you do it," Cadash said gleefully, before vanishing impossibly quickly from sight - blighted dwarves and their small stature. In front of him, Trevelyan raised his hand, face pinched with the strain of casting without a staff, then blasted a line of ice across the battlefield, stopping a demon in its headlong charge at Adaar. The Tal-Vashoth whirled, impossibly light on her feet, the sword flashing silver as she slammed one of the demons to the ground, Cadash moving in quickly for the kill before the creature could rise again. The dwarf glanced over at him, her eyes shining, blood splattered across her jacket and dripping off the blade of her knife, and _grinned_ at him. "What are you waiting for, elf? I'm already two up on you."

The dagger wasn't his weapon of choice - he was still more at home with a bow - but every good hunter knew how to use both. It was simple but well built, balanced, the hilt fitting so comfortably into his hand that it might have been crafted just for him. 

"Are you alright, Lavellan?" Trevelyan called out to him.

"Or are you just scared?" Adaar followed up. "Don't worry, I can handle all the big, mean--"

Lavellan hefted the knife. A flick of his wrist sent it flying towards the demon that was creeping up on the Tal-Vashoth. The blade caught the demon square in the centre of what passed for a head, dropping it to the ground immediately.

Adaar raised an eyebrow and whistled. "Colour me impressed."

"You're welcome," Lavellan said dryly, dusting off his hands.

"I'm _still_ one up on you," Cadash pointed out, before Trevelyan snapped his fingers, freezing the last demon solid. Cadash barely managed two steps towards it, before the Seeker appeared, almost out of nowhere, bringing her shield down and shattering the demon with a crunch.

The Breach reached out to reclaim its fallen, the unearthly green light casting their faces in a sickly glow. No one spoke. No one _moved_ in fact, each paralysed to stillness in the wake of the battle. Eyes open, ears pricked, waiting - as they said in his clan - for the rest of the wolf pack to burst out of hiding.

No wolves - demonic or otherwise - appeared. The tension gave way, inch by creeping inch, and with it, the stillness fell apart. Cadash's mark crackled and she scowled at it, waving off Adaar's concern. The Seeker held out her hand to Adaar, who shrugged and handed her blade back, hilt first. 

"That was… well fought," the Seeker conceded. She hadn't lost her frown - Lavellan was starting to think that it was permanent - but there was something softer about her gaze. Or perhaps it was a concussion. It was hard to tell, in the circumstances. "I owe you my thanks," she said, glancing at the four of them. 

"Not bad for a bunch of criminals, innit?" Cadash said, sauntering by and pulling Lavellan's dagger out of the demon's corpse. 

"We must proceed to the forward camp," the Seeker said, flicking the blood from her sword. "There is no time to lose, and there will be more fighting ahead." Her eyes lingered briefly on the pair of daggers that Cadash held, then flicked to Trevelyan, who, of all of them, hadn't said a word or moved an inch since the end of the battle. In that moment, the tension from before rushed back, the air practically growing brittle. The mage tilted his chin up, meeting the Seeker's gaze squarely, and Lavellan didn't have to be a spirit to sense the thoughts flying between both of them: the Seeker may not have been a templar, but she was, for all intents and purposes, close enough.

In that instant, Lavellan felt almost as though he had fallen back through time. It was the Conclave again in miniature, the weight of two orders boiling down to two persons in a frozen wasteland, standing surrounded by the fading remnants of demons. Mage and templar. Prisoner and gaoler. The Seeker, the shining silver of her unsheathed blade in hand; Trevelyan, a living weapon in his own right. Each knew full well what the other was capable of, had the weight of centuries of grievances dogging their footsteps, and no reason to trust each other. 

"You two aren't going to start fighting, are you?" Adaar said cautiously, voicing the thought that was surely running through everyone's head. Cadash shushed her with violent motions.

What was Trevelyan going to do, Lavellan wondered. He'd been content to go along thus far, but he'd had as much choice as any of them - which was to say, none at all. There was a stubborn set to his jaw and a rebellious spark in his eye that said that he wasn't overjoyed by the thought of backing down, if that was what the Seeker demanded, but there was something more to that - a wariness, perhaps even a shadow of the fear that clung to all the Circle mages that Lavellan had seen. 

For his part, Lavellan couldn't see how the human mages could allow themselves to be locked away, consigned to a dusty tower in some distant part of Thedas. The Dalish may not always have been kind to their mages, particularly when they had too many of them, but at least exile was preferable to incarceration. Though … perhaps it was different for humans, who could live their entire life in a single town or city. Perhaps to them, the thought of moving from place to place was as terrifying as the thought of being stuck in one place was to him. But nevertheless. 

He wished that he had held onto the dagger. The slightest misstep by the Seeker would have the mage lashing out, he was sure of it. He exchanged a grim look with Cadash, who gestured covertly with her thumb over her shoulder, which Lavellan hoped meant _if things explode like the Kirkwall chantry, we run_ , and not _I'll take the one on the left and you take the one on the right and we'll split the loot_. Despite himself, he had no reason to dislike Trevelyan, and the Seeker seemed the honourable sort.

He saw the moment that Trevelyan made up his mind, his expression - far too open for his own good - betraying him as it hardened with resolve. The Seeker, straightforward as she was, squared her shoulders, and Lavellan tensed in anticipation of the imminent clash.

Later, he would never be able to recall who had acted first. They moved, and it was of one accord, as these things had to be. Both sides reaching out together to bridge the gap, driven by a common goal, a common enemy. Or perhaps it was something even simpler than that - two common people, both seeking nothing more, _and nothing less_ , than peace in their time. No words were exchanged - no promises uttered that could be broken, no oaths sworn that could ring false. Trevelyan held out his hand and the Seeker grasped it, the simplest gesture of alliance and understanding. 

Utterly basic. 

Utterly poignant.

Adaar grinned. _Cadash_ smiled, and Lavellan exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. It wasn't that it was touching, he told himself. It was just that it was pragmatic. They had bigger things to worry about. 

"I will remember your assistance," the Seeker said, at the same time Trevelyan said, "I could help with those wounds, Seeker."

"We have no time to stop," the Seeker replied, reaching for the healing potions at her belt, handing them out before uncorking one for herself. "Here, take these. We must get to the forward camp, before the Breach grows any larger."

"And before we are overrun by demons," Adaar pointed out. 

"This way," the Seeker said, stalking off across the ice, apparently completely unperturbed by the destruction of the bridge - perhaps she had seen far worse in her time. They trudged after her, a motley band if there ever was one, one sword and two daggers between five of them, across a demon infested valley. 

"By the way," the Seeker said, pausing and looking around at them. "Call me Cassandra."

 _Because one little skirmish together naturally puts everyone on first name terms,_ was the sarcastic thought that flicked through Lavellan's mind, but the others were smiling like they were all the best of friends, swapping names and stories as they jogged across the ice. The dwarf, it seemed, was named Malika, the Tal-Vashoth, Herah. The Seeker was a Pentaghast, which made Lavellan prick up his ears - he'd heard of the lineage, was which apparently of high standing in Nevarra. Trevelyan's first name they all knew, because the mage was the type to make friends and spill his life story at the slightest provocation, it seemed. True to form, Trevelyan was glancing over at him, the obvious question already poised on the tip of his tongue.

"We are likely to be dead by the time the day is through. What is the point of names?" Lavellan snapped pre-emptively.

Something like hurt flashed across the shem's face, and Lavellan almost, _almost_ regretted his words. Still, a lifetime of moving from place to place had taught him one thing - connections outside his clan were more trouble than they were worth. Even if they survived this, they would part, each to their respective ends of Thedas, and he had no intention of becoming … attached … to any of them. Least of all the human who was doing a remarkably good impression of a kicked puppy. 

Trevelyan may have been intelligent, but he was far too naive. His sheltered upbringing may not have been one of his choosing, but that did not change the fact that he did not understand how the world outside his Circle's walls worked. The world did not stay in one place. It moved, constant as the river, and in its passing, scattered and separated all the pebbles caught up in its path. 

"You may plan on dying, elf," Cadash said, her tone sharp as one of her daggers, "But leave the rest of us out of it." She placed a hand on Trevelyan's elbow. "Come on, Max. Let's leave grumpy-pants to himself."

Lavellan shrugged and looked away. 

*

It was ironic, Lavellan reflected, that fighting demons was almost a relief from the grating social interactions with the rest of the group. A short jaunt down the river and up a hill later, they caught up with the apostate elf Solas, as well as a beardless dwarf in a red coat. Cadash's mark proved that it could seal tears in the Veil, and Lavellan would have thought that a discovery of that magnitude should have warranted more excitement. Cadash, however, had immediately bounded over to the dwarf and began cooing. It took Lavellan a moment to realise that it was the _crossbow_ she was fascinated by, not the dwarf. 

"How does she work?" Cadash was saying, peering at the gears with a decidedly mercenary gleam in her eye. "Self-loading? Can you fire multiple bolts at once? What's her torque? Maximum range? Accuracy across three hundred yards? I've seen people _try_ to make crossbows, but they're always shite. This baby, though--"

"Whoa," the dwarf - Varric, apparently - said, grinning and moving the crossbow away. "Bianca is unique. One of a kind. A lady's gotta have her secrets, if you get my drift." He winked. The Seeker made a disgusted noise.

Solas, in the meantime, was starting to look faintly vexed by the fact that he was being ignored by the wielder of the mark - or perhaps, vexed that everyone was ignoring the very important fact that they had just sealed one of the smaller tears in the Veil. The Seeker, for her part, was getting twitchy. "We must keep moving," Lavellan said, at the same time the Seeker did, and both of them glanced at each other in some bemusement when their voices echoed in perfect symphony. 

"Can I hold her for a bit?" Cadash said, completely ignoring them. "Just a little bit? I know how to treat a lady." She winked. 

Surprisingly, it was Adaar who came to their rescue, clearing her throat and barking out " _Move_ , we can all flirt later," in a voice that would have made any field commander proud. Even Cadash jumped at that, although Varric laughed and used it as an opportunity to escape, pushing to the front of the party and following the Seeker down the path. Lavellan huffed a sigh of relief as they resumed their march. 

They trudged on to what was charitably called "the forward camp", which was less a camp and more a random scattering of crates and soldiers. But the crates yielded up weapons and armour for each of them, including a simple bow of surprisingly decent balance, and enough arrows to fill a quiver. The Seeker located a staff for Trevelyan, who accepted it with a look of undisguised joy. The mage immediately bounded off to the end of the bridge to test it, firing off spells into the distance, much to the alarm of several templars nearby. Adaar selected a two-handed broadsword, taking a few experimental swings with it, and several soldiers backed hurriedly away.

Cadash, in the meantime, was being asked to discuss strategy. 

"We could take the mountain pass," the Seeker said. "What do you think, Leliana?"

"It might work," the one named Leliana replied. Lavellan narrowed his eyes as recognition hit him - she had been the one accompanying the Seeker in the prison, earlier. Out here in the light of day, with a bow strapped to her back, she looked like an assassin. "But if you are ambushed…"

"We do both," Adaar cut in, and Lavellan had to admit that one simply felt compelled to listen when someone Qunari-sized started issuing orders. "We distract them with the forward charge, buy some time for Cadash and her team to sneak round to the back of the temple." Her fingers traced the paths on the maps. "If we can cut a path through the demons in the valley, we should be able to rendezvous at the temple. If not, hopefully we'll keep their eyes on us long enough for Cadash's team to reach the objective."

"It looks viable," Lavellan agreed. 

"Good," Adaar said. "I'll go with the soldiers. Cadash, collect Trevelyan, he's quick on his feet and has good support spells that will keep you out of trouble. Speaking of which, if you see trouble--"

"Dagger in the eye?" Cadash said, innocently, then laughed and held up her hands. "No fighting unless necessary, got it."

"Don't get carried away, is all I'm saying," Adaar replied with a wink. "You'd best take Solas with you too, he seems to know the most about these rifts. Cassandra, we have mages with the troops, yes?"

"We do," the Seeker nodded, and Lavellan wondered if she was feeling as dumbstruck as he was by the way Adaar had just seized control of this operation. 

"Good. And you should go with them, they'll need a frontliner if things get messy. Take Varric too, that crossbow of his will be a real gem in close quarter fighting, and he'll be able to give you some ranged cover if you're pinned down. And elf--"

"I will go with them," Lavellan said.

"No, you're with me," Adaar replied. "We're going to be in a valley - the more archers we can have up on the heights, the better. Besides, you were the one with the deathwish, right? You'll be just fine." She looked over at him, and their gazes locked. Lavellan bristled - he didn't take orders from anyone except his Keeper, let alone some Tal-Vashoth mercenary. But he had to concede that Adaar had the right of it about the advantages of Varric's crossbow over his longbow in close quarters. 

"Alright, that was crossing the line," Adaar conceded, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that. But you're good, Lev. And I need you at my back. This thing - this Breach in the sky - you're right. It could kill us all, but damned if we're going down without a fight." She held out her hand. "Truce?"

It wasn't the moment between Trevelyan and the Seeker, but there was something about the gesture that resonated anyway. And besides, now that the jokes were cast aside, he could see how deathly serious the Tal-Vashoth was. She was a seasoned commander, no doubt, and even if Lavellan didn't bow to any authority, he could respect competency. 

"Done," he said, reaching out to clasp her hand, which utterly dwarfed his. "Consider your back covered."

"All set, then?" Trevelyan said, from behind them. 

"Then we move," the Seeker chimed in. "We have no time to waste. Come, Cadash. We will make sure you get to the Breach."

"Well," Cadash huffed. "This is _definitely_ not what I imagined would happen when I woke up this morning."

"Take care out there," Trevelyan said quietly, and Lavellan blinked when he realised that the shemlen was talking to him. 

He nodded. "I _will_ see you at the Temple, mage. Make sure that you are there." 

The human caught the unspoken meaning threaded through his words, and his answering smile light up his face like sunshine. 

*


End file.
